Harry Potter & the Second War
by Jiffer
Summary: [CHAPTER 2 - BACK TO THE BURROW] a vengeful Slytherin house, a penitent Percy, a Professor Remus, Sirius' old diary, animagi lessons, and the launch of a new war are only some of the many things happening in Harry Potter's sixth year back to Hogwarts.
1. A Surprise Visitor

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Harry Potter & The Second War

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A/N: Here it is, a brand new fanfic. Any criticism, good or bad, is greatly appreciated and begged for. Reviews are one of the sole things that keep fanfiction authors like me alive, and it'd be nice to know all the researching at the wonderful Harry Potter Lexicon hasn't gone to waste. The only ships that'll be sailing in this fic are mainly just Ron/Hermione sprinkled with an occasional Harry/Ginny, Bill/Fleur, or some other miscellaneous pairings. 

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by a bunch of people including Warner Bros., Scholastic Press, and J. K. Rowling. I, however, am not one of those people, so I sadly own nothing. 

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Harry laid his quill down on the table for the fifth time that night. The blank paper that sat across from him on his desk was illuminated softly by the glow of his table lamp. No inspiration as to what to write on it came. He looked back over at Hermione's letter that was waiting to be answered next to him. It had been her sixth one sent. Harry's glance shifted over to the pile of letter, some of them unopened, stacked next to Hedwig's cage. 

Harry didn't know what to do. He had been sent letter after letter, most from Ron and Hermione, a few from Remus, two from the Twins, updating him on the business successes of their Joke Shop, and even one from Tonks, but all of them were left on his desk not replied to. It was not that he wanted his friends to worry about him. It was just that he couldn't really face them at the moment. Any sentence he wrote to Hermione or Ron looked wrong to him. He couldn't say he was doing well because he wasn't. He couldn't talk about his summer vacation because there was honestly nothing important to say. 

The Dursleys, Harry was rather relieved to note, had been more then suitably intimidated by the warnings Mad Eye had made to them regarding their treatment of him over the summer at their house. They had started making a habit of not talking to him and avoiding him when they could. Dudley was so scared that the usual appearance of Harry was enough to send him tip-toeing out of the room, as if making noise might provoke Harry to call the Order of the Phoenix in to hex him. 

It wasn't all that great feeling as if he was the only person in the household whenever Harry ventured downstairs, but then again, at least they were leaving him alone and letting him eat what he wanted to now. It was one of the few things that were good about the summer: being able to eat crisps and drink soda in front of the still dieting Dudley.

Harry picked up his quill again and looked thoughtfully down at his paper. Perhaps he could tell Hermione about that. She had, after all, been one of the people providing him with food for the previous two years. It would be good for her to hear that he was finally getting something better then celery sticks. 

Harry dipped his Eagle Feather quill into its ink well and started to write out a sentence:

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Hermione –

Sorry for not answering back sooner. I've been busy.

Harry frowned at that. No, that was a lie. He hadn't been busy. All he'd been doing was sitting around the house and watching the News Stations on TV. He balled up the paper, got a new one, dipped his quill again, and tried once more. 

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Hermione – 

Thanks for the letters. I'm glad to hear about your trip to the States coming up. I hope it all goes well for you.

Harry looked approvingly at the letter so far. Yes, that wasn't sounding so bad. He stooped over the paper more eagerly and continued:

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You might be pleased to know that the Dursleys are letting me eat whatever I want now. The Order's threat seemed to have scared them all pretty well.

Harry frowned slightly. Would it be too dangerous for him to mention the Order of the Phoenix? Hedwig might be intercepted. Just then a burning pain erupted from his scar. Harry winced, dropped his quill, and rubbed his fingers on it wearily. It had been hurting nearly nonstop now, ever since the night Voldemort had been discovered and Sirius had…

His hand that had been massaging his scar curled into a fist. He hit his forehead hard in an attempt to drive out the horrible images from the Department of Mysteries. He forced himself to focus his attention back on the unfinished letter in front of him, but it looked too happy to him now. It was all too casual. Surreal. He felt as if he was betraying his Godfather by writing to Hermione as if nothing had happened. A familiar anger took him. How could everyone be so cool about this? In all the letters addressed to him, not one mentioned Sirius. It was as if his memory had been erased. Even Remus, Sirius's closest friend, didn't say anything about him. Were they all doing it for his sake, or had they all really forgotten what had happened in the Department of Mysteries – how _she _had killed him?

Hermione's letter was crumpled in his hands before he had any second thoughts. Bellatrix Lestrange had been her name. The faded photo that had been sitting in Kreacher's den appeared in Harry's mind. Dark and heavy lidded, she possessed some of the same physical distinctions Sirius had had. The idea of it only infuriated Harry more. _'Aaaaah…. Did you **love **him, little baby Potter?' _her voice taunted in his mind. Harry wondered vaguely what Hermione's reaction would be if he told her that he had cast an Unforgivable Curse. He didn't even know _how _he had done it. In his fourth year, the fake Moody had said that the Cruciatus curse required a lot of power behind it, but all Harry had felt when he cast it was inexpressible anger. It hadn't been enough though. According to Lestrange, 'righteous' anger wouldn't hurt people for long. 

Harry pushed back his chair and turned off his lamplight, plunging his room into darkness. Every second he spent at Privet Drive made him want to leave it even more. He was too bored. Having nothing to do caused him to think too much, and thinking too much caused him to fall even more into depression. Alone, his mind was allowed to freely wander, and Harry had enough problems as it was sleeping, with the nightmares that continued to plague him. They switched from the Graveyard and Cedric's death to the dimly lit corridors of the Department of Magic where Sirius fell through the veil and died, and ended always with the triumphant faces of Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry had tried to drain his mind every night before falling asleep like Snape had told him, but either his mind was just too active or his will just too weak. 

As his eyes adjusted more to the dark, Harry looked over to the unanswered stack of letters again. It looked oddly higher in the moonlight. He would maybe try to tackle a few of them tomorrow when he had had some rest. 

Getting up, he shifted through the various mess littered on his floor. He hadn't had the motivation to clean any of it up yet. He went over to a calendar that was nailed up on his wall. It was one of the only wall decorations he had. Taking a red marker hanging from its side, Harry marked out another day on it. 

It was mid-July now. Professor McGonagall had said that they would be receiving their O.W.L.s sometime during the month, but Harry had gotten nothing as of yet. The suspense was beginning to really get to him. He seemed pretty confident that he had gotten an 'Outstanding' in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but that was about the only thing he was sure of. In Divination he would be surprised if he had even managed an 'Acceptable', it didn't really bother him as much as Potions. Potions was what really had him worried. In order to qualify for a career as an Auror, he had to somehow achieve at least five N.E.W.T.s , and Professor McGonagall had already told him that one of the classes needed was Potions, which he could only continue in if he had somehow managed an 'Outstanding' in his O.W.L.s, something which Harry doubted extremely.

Harry walked over to his bed and got in, pulling his covers up over him and staring dully at the ceiling of his room, which he could barely make out. He tried emptying his mind, but every time pictures of Sirius and Lestrange appeared unwanted. What he wouldn't do for one of Madam Pomfrey's Sleeping Drafts. At least then he could be able to spend a night without worrying about unwanted visions and nightmares.

He screwed his eyes shut and tried to focus on a sound in the room. It was completely silent except for the occasional noise of a car passing. He kept listening for a while, until finally, unbidden, sleep took him.

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Harry woke up the next morning feeling, if anything, more tired then when he went to sleep. He had had a fitful rest and kept on going in and out of the dream world. The third time this occurred, his mind had finally shut down, and he dreamed again of the graveyard. Constantly, in his ears, Voldemort's voice was shrilly taunting, '_bow to death, Potter'_ and a crying image of Cho was berating him, yelling '_How can you be so insensitive when you saw him die! I suppose you just want to forget about it all!'_ He had awakened suddenly as the body of Sirius fell limply through the veil again. The cackling laugh of triumph from Bellatrix Lestrange followed him even after he had awoke. 

It was almost noon by the time Harry made it downstairs to the Dursleys. Usually his Uncle Vernon would've been pounding angrily on his door if he hadn't been up a good three hours ago, but apparently he was too worried about what Harry might report to the Order of the Phoenix to carry on the tradition. Harry tromped down the stairway and over to the kitchen for something to eat. He was surprised to find Aunt Petunia there. She had a bag of groceries in arm and was in the process of setting it down when he had come in. She looked up, and there was a papery crashing sound as she knocked the bag over. Apples scattered out of it and onto the floor, letting out small, sharp thuds when they hit.

Harry automatically stooped down to gather them up for his aunt. This made him come within reaching distance to Aunt Petunia, which seemed to scare her. She backed away from him quickly and said nothing as he put the apples back into the bag.

Harry straightened and looked over at her. Her arms were crossed and she was chewing on her lip, causing him to frown. Harry still didn't know quite how to act around her anymore. The atmosphere between them had changed somehow. He wasn't sure exactly what was to be meant by it. The memory of her opening up for once and revealing her knowledge of some of the Wizarding world was still fresh in his mind even if it had been a whole summer ago. He had been meaning to ask her about it again- about how much she knew- but now that he knew who sent her the Howler, he had no excuse to bring it up. Also he had a feeling that she wouldn't have said anything even if he asked. Whenever she saw him, she seemed as if determined above anything else to pretend he wasn't around. It was even worse when Uncle Vernon was there because Harry'd be sent furious glares throughout her whole discomfort. Never had Harry ever felt so unwanted in his life. He wished for the hundredth time that he could talk to Sirius again. 

With this thought, the familiar dark weight on his chest returned again. Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly before going to the fridge and opening it.

Last year an action like this would've been out of the question. To go through the refrigerator without the Dursley's permission was an unspeakable sin for Harry, but since they had all been too busy treating him like an unwanted piece of furniture and ignoring everything he did, he figured he might as well take it to his advantage a bit. They hadn't objected to him doing it yet, anyway.

Harry rummaged around a bit and took out some left over ham from dinner the night before, deciding to make himself a sandwich. He turned around and opened one of the drawers to get a knife. 

Aunt Petunia was busying herself with putting up food, trying her best to avoid any part of the kitchen in which Harry was residing. Harry shot a glance back at the kitchen table as he smeared mayonnaise onto a piece of bread. He noticed a shoebox on it. Probably new shoes for Dudley, he thought with a pang of bitterness. 

Harry had bought himself a pair of shoes at Hogsmead last fall, but those were wearing out fast. Already the first hole had appeared at the heel. It was only a matter of time until he would be forced to resort to walking around the house in socks again. Getting out a plate, Harry carried his lunch over to the table and sat down to eat. 

He had only gotten to his first bite though when Aunt Petunia spoke.

"Those are for you," she said.

Her voice seemed really loud to Harry even though the words had been spoken at almost as a whisper. He choked a bit on his food. "Pardon?" he coughed.

Aunt Petunia looked swiftly over her shoulder at the window. "The shoes," she impatiently. She nodded her head over to the innocent looking box in front of Harry on the table. 

Harry blinked at his aunt then at the box. He put down his sandwich and hesitantly reached over to it. The box was slightly heavier then he had anticipated and he hurriedly bent his elbows and put it down in front of him. He glanced at Aunt Petunia again, who was chewing her lip and watching. Bracing himself, he opened the lid and peered inside, moving bits of white paper that the shoes came wrapped in out of the way. 

His hands dropped to the sides of the box. They were not only shoes but also brand new ones. His aunt and uncle had never ever, in all of his years of living with them, given him anything new, especially something that was as nice as these. Smelling of rubber, Harry took one of the pair of sneakers out and inspected it more closely. It was white and the label read his size. 

When had he ever told Aunt Petunia his size? Harry put the shoe back in the box confusedly.

"I had to guess your size," his aunt said stiffly. "You'll have to make do with them if they don't fit. I'm not going back out to get you another pair."

"Er, thanks," Harry said, not sure how else to respond.

"You can just throw the ones you have on away," his aunt continued. "And don't think I'm doing this for any other reason then just to keep up a good face to the neighbors. Don't want them gossiping that we're in financial trouble or such." She stole another glance out the doorway.

Harry was tempted to mention the fact that they hadn't cared any last summer when his toes were sticking out of his last pair but held it back. He took off his old shoes, replacing them with the new ones from the box and laced them up. They pinched his feet a little, but he could probably break them in. He opened his mouth to say thank you again, but Aunt Petunia had gone over to the sink, turned on the water loudly, and was scrubbing fiercely at a pan.

Harry left the kitchen and went into the living room to catch the updates on the news. He had made it his solemn duty to check it every day two to three times to see if Voldemort had made his appearance in the Muggle world. As of yet, no suspicious reports had been made that would hint at it. Harry guessed that he was still buying his time and waiting until his forces were bit stronger before launching an attack on the non-Wizard community. He had already started making his move in the Wizarding world. In the Daily Prophet, news was still a buzz over an attack on Gringotts a week ago by four Death Eaters. A small number of Goblins had been wounded in the skirmish as the Death Eaters took out the Muggle-Wizard Money Exchange counters and destroyed all the Muggle currency stored there. The whole attack had cost Gringotts many thousands of galleons worth in damage. Sources seemed to suggest that they had had insider help. 

Harry went over all the facts in his mind to make sure he remembered it all. It wasn't too hard to figure out why Voldemort had attacked that section of Gringotts. It must have irked him a lot knowing Muggleborns and Muggles alike were free to buy and sell in Diagon Alley. Hermione's parents had been there once or twice themselves, and Bill had talked with Mr. Weasley more then a few times about the Muggle money traffic increasing considerably in the last decade. They had just been in the process of adding in a second vault when the attack had happened.

Harry sat down on the couch with the remote and started flipping through the channels until he found the news. The weather forecast was on at that moment with the weather man predicting rain for most of the next week. Harry sighed and got more comfortable on the couch, allowing his eyes to shut for a moment. Minutes slipped by, and Harry was just starting to nod off when the News Special about studies in chimp behavior ended. A picture of a middle-aged man with untidy blonde hair and an icy frown appeared on the screen followed by three others below him. Harry blinked sleepily at their faces.

"- Officials reported the break out last night around one o' clock in the morning. The convicts' names are Antonin Dolohov, Walden McNair, Rabastan Lestrange, and Lucius Malfoy. If spotted, the Police warn that they could be armed and---"

Harry leaped up from the couch and knelt down right in front of the screen, not daring to believe what he was seeing. He rubbed his eyes fiercely to drive off the sleepiness and stared.

"--Local residences are advised to contact authorities immediately through the hotline number if they have any information regarding their whereabouts." A eight hundred number flashed at the bottom of the screen. 

"In other news, Zoologist Tony Kemble...."

The pictures of Malfoy's and the other faces faded from the screen but remained alive in Harry's mind as he turned off the TV shakily. His immediate impulse was to get up and write a letter to Ron and Hermione, but then a sudden feeling of shame came over him as he thought back to all the letters stacked on his desk. How could he have been so stupid to ignore them like he had? He knew he had to see them at Hogwarts. Hermione would maybe be able to understand him, but he was sure Ron wouldn't. How could he convey to him just how sick he felt in the stomach talking about such frivolous things, especially after all that he had seen and found out. The words of Dumbledore concerning his prophecy hadn't left him. He hadn't told Ron and Hermione because he wasn't sure they should know. Can Ron and Hermione really understand something like that? That he was a marked man, doomed to kill or be killed? It seemed too hard for even him to swallow. And now the Death Eaters had escaped. Harry had read in the Daily Prophet that their hearings were to be held this very weekend. The question of how they had done it was eating away at him in his mind. Sirius would know. But then he remembered that Sirius wasn't alive anymore to tell him. 

"Is.…everything alright?" questioned his aunt from behind him. 

Harry blinked and pushed back his thoughts. He turned his head to look at his aunt. 

She was standing in the doorway of the family room holding a damp kitchen towel and watching him apprehensively. Her eyes were wider then usual, and it was the second time Harry had made direct eye contact with her like this. He must've appeared strange to her, Harry realized, off in a daze, facing a blank TV. 

He scooted away from the TV and got up from the ground. "Four Death Eaters have escaped from Azk.... from that prison in... you know... my world," he said calmly, choking back the word 'Azkaban' so not to upset her more.

Aunt Petunia's bony face went paler. The word 'Death Eater' seemed to have registered somewhere in her mind. "Escaped?" she asked breathlessly. "But I thought that those, those _things_ guarded it."

"Left it," said Harry with a shake of his head. "They joined up with Voldemort."

Aunt Petunia's expression was hard to read. She made a shifty-eyed glance at all the windows around them as if to spy around and see if any of them were prowling outside her house. She opened her mouth to speak then closed it, looking torn. 

She was interrupted from making a decision of whether or not to say something when the doorbell rang. Both she and Harry jumped at the loud, unexpected noise. For a moment they just stood there, waiting for the other to break the silence.

"I'll go get it," Harry offered, sliding his hand in his pocket and gripping his wand for reassurance. 

He walked past Aunt Petunia and went towards the entrance hall. The doorbell rang again, and Harry felt a creeping sense of foreboding. It wasn't Uncle Vernon. He wasn't due to be home from work until five, and even if he did come home early, there would be no point in ringing the doorbell of his own house. Harry thought of more possibilities. The neighbors, perhaps? Dudley's friends? But Dudley was already gone for the day. Miss Figgs, maybe? Or perhaps a salesman. 

Harry silently scowled himself. Did he really think that escaped Death Eaters or Voldermort would be waiting for him? As if they'd bother ringing the doorbell and ask to be let in? Besides, Dumbledore had promised him that his Aunt and Uncle's house was one of the safest place to be because of the blood protection of his mothers.

Harry reached the door and took a deep breath before looking thought the peek hole. 

An elderly woman with tightly curled gray hair that wore a purple hat shaped like a porkpie was standing outside the door, rummaging though her purse. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and reached for the door handle when the woman pulled out a wand. 

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"Alohamora!" she said clearly.

Warning bells exploded in Harry's mind. He pulled out his own wand as the door went swinging open, nearly clipping him in the chest as he jerked back out of the way. He backed up and tripped over the tassel of one of Aunt Petunia's Oriental rugs as the old woman advanced. She stretched her arm out towards him as he fell sharply to the ground, dropping his wand. It went rolling away and out of his reach.

Harry's scar pounded into his forehead. Was this sensation going to be the last he ever had? A pain in his scar and then death? What about his Aunt Petunia? He had to warn her to run. He had to--

The gnarled hand of the old woman clasped over his wrist and Harry was pulled roughly to his feet. "Wotcher, Harry," she said merrily as he stared up into her twinkling, currently green eyes. "Been having a fun summer?"

Realization dawned on Harry as he recalled the time Tonks had helped escorted him last year from Grimmauld as an old woman. The fact that she was a metamorphmagus and able to change her appearance at will had escaped his mind until now. Harry let out the breath he had been holding back without knowing it and smiled for the first time in ages at Tonks.

"Hello, Tonks," he greeted.

Tonks grinned back at him and shut the door behind her. She went over to retreive his wand, which had fell behind the umbrella stand by the door and ended up knocking it over. "Oopsy, sorry about that." She set the stand back upright, retrieving the stray umbrellas that had spilled out and putting them back in. "Here's your wand, love," she said, tossing Harry's wand at him. "Might do well to not be so clumsy with it."

Harry caught it in the air and tried not to roll his eyes. A lecture on clumsiness just didn't seem the right one for Tonks to be giving him. 

The horsey face of his Aunt Petunia appeared from the family room as she peered at them. Seemingly deeming old lady Tonks as not threatening, the rest of her appeared, minus the kitchen towel. With the familiar brisk, aloofness that she usually possessed whenever someone like Miss Figgs was over at her house, she approached Harry and Tonks calmly. She looked Tonks up and down. Her eyes strayed for a particular while on her porkpie purple hat.

"May I help you?" she asked Tonks.

Tonks caught Harry's glance for a moment and both of them tried not to laugh. If Aunt Petunia had only known who Tonks was without the disguise, she would've acted much differently. "Actually, you can," she said. "If it would be alright with you, I'd like to speak with Harry here for a while alone outside."

Aunt Petunia stiffened. "Outside? Why? Do you know each other?"

"More or less. Yes."

This seemed to confirm Aunt Petunia's suspicions. "You won't be drawing any attention to yourselves, will you?" she demanded, her meaning clear.

"If you mean use magic, no, I don't think so. Wizards and witches aren't allowed to do magic in broad daylight around Muggles. I just came to chat with Harry for a bit."

Aunt Petunia looked at Tonks as if she had just uttered a filthy word. Harry couldn't help but wonder what it would've been like if his Uncle Vernon was there at the moment. To hear three words that were forbidden to be said in their house since Harry was a baby would've caused him a huge shock, no doubt. Aunt Petunia, however, was just looking like she had swallowed something rather green and slimy and was trying hard not to spit it out.

"Don't worry, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, wanting to reassure her, fearing that she might throw Tonks out if she said anything else about the Wizarding world. "We'll keep our voices down."

Aunt Petunia looked as if this wasn't very believable to her and she'd much rather refuse to let him, but clearly the lack of the usual support of Uncle Vernon made her uneasy. She gave a forced bob of her head to Harry which he could only deduce to be a yes. 

He turned towards the door, which Tonks opened for him, kicking over the umbrella stand again as she did. "See you around then," he said to his aunt.

Once outside, Tonks began to briskly stroll down the Dursley's driveway with Harry following after her. When they got onto the sidewalk and began to make their way down towards Magnolia Crescent, Harry decided to break the silence.

"So where are we going?" he asked.

"To the park," answered Tonks as she straightened her hat, "to meet up with Remus."

"Professor Lupin?" Harry felt a leap of joy in his chest. "How's he doing? Is he alright?"

"No, not really. He's been up the walls about you, in fact; nothing but fretful for the past few weeks," Tonks stated matter-of-factly.

Harry frowned. "Why's that?" 

Tonks gave him an exasperated look. "Don't play innocent, Harry. Didn't we tell you to write to us every three days? You're lucky that Dumbledore was so insistent that you be left alone, or Remus would've stormed the place by now. Right insensitive of you to not write to us to tell us you're alright, especially with all the Death Eater activities popping up. Remus has been worried sick. You're all that he has, you know, now that Sirius is gone."

Harry had the decency to try and look ashamed, but he didn't really feel it. After all, he was under no obligation to have to write to them. Was it so wrong that he wanted to be left alone some? He hadn't asked Professor Lupin to worry about him. Surprised at his own contempt, Harry pushed these thoughts aside. "So how's the Order doing?" he asked. 

"Oh, everyone's fine, I guess. The war's been keeping us all busy, Dumbledore in particular. It's a lot easier now, though, with the Ministry behind us. Cornelius has practically given Dumbledore full reigns to do as he pleases. Bout time the old prat got some sense."

"Did you hear about the Death Eaters escaping?"

Tonks smirked. "Of course. It's one of the main reasons why Remus and I are here. Can't say too much though; might be overheard. We'll talk more about it when we reach Remus. Speaking of which, that should be him now."

A dusty haired man in a tattered gray coat was walking towards them from the park. Upon seeing them, he quickened his pace and reached Harry before he was quite prepared, and took him up in an embrace. 

Harry, having been devoid of human contact for nearly a solid month now, was very taken back by this unexpected display of affection. He also was surprised to notice that he was to Lupin's shoulder now. He wondered how had he grown so tall so quick. When Lupin let him go and backed up, his hands on his shoulders, Harry suddenly felt a sickening wave of guilt at the expression on his face: Hurt. Lupin waited for a while to speak, allowing Harry to squirm uncomfortably under his reprimanding gaze. 

"Well," Lupin said at last. "I'm waiting for an explanation as to why you didn't answer any of my owls."

Harry avoided his eyes and looked guiltily at his new shoes. "I, er." He felt his face burn. All the reasons and explanations he had practiced in his mind seemed to slip away from him as soon as he tried to put them together. "It's complicated."

"So Dumbledore said it would be," Lupin stated dryly, eyes still glued accusingly on Harry. "But no matter how complicated your reasoning is, it gives you no right to create such unnecessary problems for the Order like you have. Mad Eye was all for sending out a full Wizarding Squad to get you, I'll have you know."

"Now don't exaggerate, Rem," Tonks suddenly piped up. "He only suggested sending a full Wizarding Squad, and that was before Dumbledore told us to leave Harry alone for a bit. You were the only one having kittens about the whole thing."

"Did I ever mention that you talk to much, Nymphadora?" Lupin quipped, sending a glare her way. 

"Quite often," Tonks said coolly. "However, the heart wrenching lecture that you have, no doubt, been practicing on all month, really should be held off until we get to the Burrow and away from prying eyes."

"We're going to the Burrow?" asked Harry loudly, not daring to believe his ears.

Tonks winced and put her finger to her mouth in warning. "Not so loud, please."

"Do you have the Portkey ready?" Lupin asked grimly.

"Right here, Remus." Tonks patted her pocket with a wink. "You sure you can handle the aunt long enough to get his things?"

"I think I'll manage it," Lupin said confidently.

"Guess we'll leave it all to you then." Tonks reached into her pocket and pulled out an old, cracked pair of glasses. "Don't hang around too long. The anti-apparating barrier's going up at six." 

"Don't worry. I'll be fine," Remus soothed. He looked over at Harry again. "I will be seeing you at the Burrow soon, Harry, and don't think you've skivved out of trouble yet. I still have quite a few things to talk to you about."

Remus turned and nodded his head at Tonks. "See you around, Tonks."

"Take care, Remus," Tonks said.

She waved merrily as the werewolf left them, heading towards Privet Drive. She didn't take her hand down until he was out of sight.

"Guess we'd better be off then," Tonks stated. She looked around them for any Muggles and pulled Harry by the sleeve behind a mailbox of a house with a 'For Sale' sign in front of it. The broken glasses in hand, she pulled out her wand and tapped it twice. The silver frames along the glasses glowed gold as she held it out to Harry. "Take this, will you, Harry?" 

Harry hesitated.

"Don't worry, it's not set to go off for another three minutes. I want you to look at something first."

Harry took the glasses as Tonks felt around her pockets for something. She pulled out a faded piece of paper with familiar loopy writing on it.

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Ottery St. Catchpole

Devon, U.K.

The Burrow

"Hurry up and memorize it," Tonks commanded as she handed the note to him and took the glasses back. Harry stared at the note, wondering why he was doing this. He already knew, after all, where the Weasleys lived. Or did he? The address suddenly looked new to him. He quickly scanned and memorized it.

"You good?" Tonks asked after a little while.

Harry nodded, reciting the words in his head. Tonks snatched the paper up in his hands and ignited it with her wand. Soon all that was left of it was a few flecks of ashy remains on the pavement. 

Tonks pulled Harry's arm towards her and peered at his watch. "We have about a minute left. Get ready now." She reached over and held onto the glasses in Harry's hand. Time went slowly and Harry's palms started itching with sweat. He was resisting the urge to wipe them on his jeans when he felt it-- the familiar jerk in his navel and the sudden whoosh of the world falling behind him as he sped off with Tonks towards the Burrow.


	2. Back to The Burrow

Chapter 2 -- Back to The Burrow

A/N: Apologies to all you 'happy Harry' fans out there. It's a bit perplexing how dark Harry's turning out to be in this story, but I seldom question the mystical forces that drive my writing. I'm just going to have faith the muses'll help to lighten things up as the story progresses some more and Harry'll start cheering up a bit. Until then, though, I'm going to go ahead and make this story categories action/adventure and angst. A rather strange thing for me to do since I've never written angst before. I think I'm enjoying it though. There's this slight fangirl side of me that secretly takes delight in this new Harry. Torturing him tends to send these happy little sadistic shivers up my spine. It's getting to be a rather addictive feeling, and it's beginning to make me understand why Rowling's always breaking Harry's arm and such.

Yeah for author power! Enjoy the chapter and please be sure to send me your comments in the review box located at the bottom of the page. Click once. Write lots.

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Harry felt the reassuring pressure of his feet touching down on solid ground for barely a second before he toppled over and collapsed. Banging his head against the end of the table, he heard a chair fall nearby him, indicating that Tonks had arrived safely too. 

At first Harry saw nothing but a blur until he readjusted his glasses and brought his surroundings back into focus. He rubbed the back of his head, attempted to get up, and was helped along suddenly by an overjoyed Mrs. Weasley. 

"Harry dear, how good it is to see you again!" she exclaimed, smoothing him in the second hug he had that day. 

"Nice to see you too, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said as he tried to regain his composer. His eyes shifted around the Weasley kitchen, surprised at all changes it had undergone. The usually cramped surrounding, packed to the brim with kitchen appliances, pots, and pans, was no longer so cramped. The tiny room that used to barely even hold the dinner table was now a great deal larger. Everything looked stretched. The originally single window above the sink area was now double, if not triple, its size, and the coat rack by the door that was usually flooded with clothing was now long enough to accommodate everything with plenty left over to spare. There were a lot of new items there too. The old, battered table which legs were almost falling off had been replaced with a nicer one and all the mismatched chairs were gone and replaced with identical ones. 

"What happened?" he asked, amazed at the transformation.

Mrs. Weasley's expression was hard to read. "Fred and George decided to expand the place a bit."

"But how?"

"Apparently their foolish idea of opening a joke shop somehow pulled through for them. They're making a fair bit of gold now and thought they would treat the family. Though it's obvious to anyone that they're squandering their money with all the rubbish they're buying." She sounded half proud, half disgusted.

Tonks stifled a laugh. "Yes, well, the dragon skin coats may have been a bit much."

"A bit?" Mrs. Weasley said indignantly. "They'll be lucky if they don't end up on the run from the goblins like Ludo Bagman."

"Doeth George and I hear our mother dearest singing our praises?" a familiar voice of mirthful mischief rang as Fred and George entered the kitchen. 

George went immediately up to Harry and held out his hand to him. "Hello there, Harry. So good to see you. Put 'er there."

Harry grinned and shook George's hand. Immediately a sharp electrical shock ran up and down his arm. He wrenched his hand away instantly. "What the he--"

"Hand buzzer," George answered, holding up his hand so Harry could see the small, hidden devise. "An old Muggle trick. Fred and I are experimenting with these buggers to see if we can produce something similar to them for our joke shop. The Muggles got a bit of the right idea, but we felt it needed.... more of a kick to it."

Harry was tempted to say that it had plenty of a kick to it as is.

"Not so bad, these Muggle jokes," Fred stated. He pulled out a deck of playing cards still in its box. "Some are rather lame though. Like this here." He showed the card box to Harry, who backed up from them instinctively. "Want to play 'pick up fifty-two'?" he asked politely.

Harry eyed them both suspiciously. "How do you play 'pick up fifty-two'?"

Fred grinned. "Like this." He threw the cards on the ground and waited for Harry's reaction. 

Harry just stared.

George shook his head at Fred. "No, no, Fred. You did it all wrong." He picked the deck back up. "You've got to take the cards out and then you throw them on the floor so they scatter, like so." He threw and scattered the cards at Harry's feet. 

Harry backed up a bit more.

Fred looked unimpressed. "Whatever. It was a lame joke anyway. All you've got to do is summon them back." He did this and returned the cards to the deck. 

"Why, hello there, Harry." Ginny Weasley entered the kitchen in a pair of worn Muggle jeans and a baggy top with a pile of clean clothes in her arms. "Have a fun summer so far?"

"Fine, I guess," Harry said with an indifferent shrug. He hated it when people asked him that. As if a summer with the Dursleys could be fun.

"I guess that was a stupid question, huh?" Ginny said, glancing at Harry knowingly. She sat down at the table and began to fold clothes. "Like any summer with your relatives would be fun."

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips, as she always did when Harry's aunt and uncle were mentioned. "Is Ron back, Ginny?" she asked.

"Yeah, he's back. He was supposed to help me with the laundry, but he's upstairs in his room sulking instead."

"Practice still getting him down?" Tonks asked sympathetically. 

"Practice?" Harry asked.

"Quidditch practice," Fred said with his eyes rolling. "He's been at it all the time with Ginny. Seems to be under the impression that he's not going to be Keeper this year." 

"But why would Ron think such a silly thing as that?" Harry asked indignantly. 

"I dunno," said George with sarcasm. "Could be the whole 'Weasley is Our King' fiasco. Kind of a put-off if you ask me."

"That was just usual Slytherin taunts though," Harry said with loath. "Ron's just being thick. He did awesome in our game against Ravenclaw from what I've heard. Our Captain would never dream of replacing him."

Harry wasn't prepared for the reaction in the room after he said this. There was complete silence as everyone exchanged looks of amusement on their faces. 

"What?" he asked in annoyance.

Ginny plopped the last shirt she needed to fold in the table. "Oh, Harry, you really are dense sometimes. Haven't you already figured out by now who the new Gryffindor quidditch Captain will be?"

Harry just stared. 

"Let me spell it out for him, Gin," Fred said impatiently. He screwed up his face in a look of fierce concentration. "Alright, now, first of all, who's all graduated Hogwarts that was on the team last year? There's George and I, of course, not that we were on the team much with that bitch (sorry there, mum) Umbridge around. Then there's Angelina, Katie, and Alicia. That leaves only... let me think now.... Yes.... You, Ron, Ginny, and those two twits that Angelina replaced George and me with: Andrew what's-his-face and Jack Sloppy."

"Sloper," Ginny corrected.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Now who would be the logical choice for Captain this year?" George asked, copying Fred's strained _expression. "There's Ron to consider: Mr. Newbie, who's been an avid fan of a deadbeat quidditch team that hasn't won the League since 1892 and has a bit of an inferiority complex. Then there's Ginny, a wicked player, no doubt," George cast Ginny an uneasy smile, "but a new one, as well as only being a replacement for Seeker. She might not even be on the team this year. Lastly there's Jack and Andrew. These guys are only third years and can hardly even tell their bats from their brooms. Not much chance for them. Dear me, who else is left...."

"I know we're missing someone...."

Harry felt his face going red.

"He has a scar."

"He's had some dealings with You-Know-Who."

"Everyone thought he was barking last year."

"Harald.... Hamfred.... Harris....Harry.... **_Harry_**! Oh, yes, there it is: _Harry Potter_!" Fred exclaimed.

"Now why would Harry Potter make a good Captain?" George asked sarcastically.

"Well, he's been on the team since his first year-- the only first year Seeker at Hogwarts in a century, I might add."

"And he's never failed to win us a match."

"Unless you count elements that were beyond our control."

"He's the only member on the team that's been there for more then a year."

"And Angelina's already suggested him to McGonagall."

"He's got the looks."

"The guts."

"The strength."

"The motivations!"

"The charisma!"

****

"Enough!" Mrs. Weasley shouted before they could continue. "We've all got the idea, you two."

Harry was still unsure. "But surely McGonagall wouldn't choose me. I was kicked off the team, remember?"

Ginny huffed. "As if McGonagall's going to continue the ban now that that cow (no offense, mum) Umbridge is off in St. Mungo."

Something still wasn't quite adding up to Harry. "Fine, so suppose I do somehow make captain for the Gryffindor quidditch team, what's Ron doing all the practicing for? It's not like I'd kick him off the team or anything."

"Well, he'll be relieved to hear that!" Fred exclaimed. "He's been worried that that was the reason you weren't answering any of his letters. Supposed you didn't have the heart to tell him or something."

"The prat," Harry said vehemently. "I haven't even heard a single word from Hogwarts since term ended, and even if I had, he's know me for years. Like I'd really even think of throwing him off the team!"

"Harry, you're speaking to the chior, here. We all know that. It's Ron that needs the convincing. We've all been worried about you not answering out letters, of course, but you can't really blame him for drawing his own conclusions," Ginny soothed.

"Can I go see him then?" Harry asked, struggling not to feel ashamed again. 

Ginny shrugged. "Sure you can. He's just up in his room."

"Good."

"Be sure to tell Ron that lunch will be ready in an hour," Mrs. Weasley said as Harry pushed past George and Fred.

Harry left the kitchen, feeling somewhat overwhelmed and drained. He passed through the family room and as he made his way up the stairs to Ron's room, he noticed that the kitchen wasn't the only thing that had been modified. The stairs weren't nearly as narrow as he remembered them to be and there were two new doorways in the hall. Harry went to the last one and knocked at the door. 

"Who is it?" came the familiar voice inside.

"It's me. Harry," Harry replied.

There was a small crashing sound followed by rapidly approaching footsteps. A second later the door flew open to reveal a red faced Ronald Weasley. 

"Harry!" he exclaimed in delight. "You're already here!"

"Yeah, Tonks and I just arrived a few minutes ago," Harry said with a grin. Ron opened up his door wider and he stepped into the room. The familiar Chudley Cannons posters stunned Harry's eyes for a moment with their bright orange colors.

"This is great! I heard mum say Dumbledore was trying to arrange it where you could come over for the rest of summer. I just hadn't expected it to be so soon." Ron sat down at the edge of his bed, moving over a few articles of clothes. "Hermione won't even be here for another three weeks." His face suddenly dropped. "Say, why haven't you been answering any of my letters? I must have sent you a dozen of them. If you're...mad at me or anything, you should've just told me before you left for the Dursley's. Everyone's been really worried."

"I know," Harry said as he took a seat in a chair at Ron's desk, removing a stack of comic books in the way. "I've just been... busy." He knew it was a lame lie, but there really wasn't anything else to say. 

His delight in seeing Ron was already fading. Harry knew he was being unfair at being annoyed by people asking him about the letters, it was his fault after all that they had to worry, but he didn't want to talk about it. There really was no way for them to understand after all. He had just been so sick of the wizarding world when he had received those letters. Hadn't they treated him similarly last year anyway? No one had really told him anything while he was cut off from the wizarding world. He had been completely alone. If anything, they deserved to know what it felt like to be left in the dark about something for a bit. 

Ron looked at Harry oddly. "Busy, were you?" His face clearly said he wasn't buying any of it. 

"Fred and George told me about your quidditch practice," Harry said, rushed to change the subject.

"Oh yes, that," Ron looked nervous. "I was just thinking that maybe... you weren't writing because of... well,"

Harry didn't wait for him to explain it. "Of course I wouldn't kick you off the team! What kind of friend do you take me for?" 

"The kind that doesn't answer any of my letters, that's all," Ron said defensively. 

"That was only because--"

"Yes?" Ron prompted.

Harry glared at him. "I'm not having this conversation with you right now," he resolved sourly. 

Ron frowned and started playing with the hem of his shirt. "Listen," he began slowly. "I never really got to tell you how sorry I was over Sirius. Hermione and I both are. He was our friend too, you know."

"Why are you talking about this with me now?" Harry asked coldly. "Can't you tell I'd really prefer not to?"

"I know! Well, it's just.... Hermione seems under the impression that Sirius is the reason you weren't writing back to us, and I sort of... well, think I might agree with her a bit now."

"So what? Have you guys been analyzing me over the summer or something?" Harry demanded angrily. 

"No. We were just worrying, that's all." 

"Well, I'm fine, so you can both just cut it out." 

The redness in Ron's face advanced to his ears. "It's plain to see, Harry, that you aren't fine, so there's no point in you telling me you are. If you were fine, we wouldn't be having this discussion and you would've been writing to me."

"Look, it's not such a big deal. I just didn't feel like writing to anyone, alright?"

"Why then?" Ron demanded. "Why didn't you write us?"

"I tried to, really I did. It's just that....I couldn't."

"Because of Sirius?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"I can't," Harry paused and looked at the ground bitterly. "I can't tell you," he muttered.

"There you go again with your secrets," said Ron in exasperation.

"So?" Harry snapped, getting up from his seat. "Why should I tell you something if you couldn't understand?" 

"How could I understand if you don't even tell me?" Ron shot back.

Harry sighed and sank back down tiredly. "Let's just drop it, ok, Ron?"

Ron looked like he didn't very much want to do that, but he abandoned his scowl anyway and shrugged. "Whatever you say. I wasn't really in the mood for a fight anyway."

Harry ran his fingers along the wires of Pigwidgeon's empty cage. Ron had unraveled a good-sized string from his shirt now. Both of them seemed equally determined not to look each other in the eye.

Their silent brooding was short-lived however when Ginny came in, swinging the door to Ron's room open loudly and banging it into the shelve behind it. She had discarded her practice clothes and had replaced them with a yellow jumper that fell past her knees. She went in quickly and jumped over next to Ron on his bed, kicking her legs behind her. She propped her head with her hands and looked over at her brother slyly. "Hello there, Ronald."

"Don't you knock?" Ron asked irritably. 

"Well, I did," said Ginny innocently. "But apparently there was too much yelling going on inside, and you didn't hear me." 

Ron rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Fine. What do you want?"

"Nothing much, really. Just wanted to come up here and say hello, and to also warn you that Bill and his girlfriend are back. They're going to joining us for dinner, so you might want to try really hard to not to act as idiotic as you did last time she came over."

"Shut up," said Ron in annoyance, his ears gone red again.

"Bill's girlfriend?" Harry said curiously. "That would be Fleur Delacour, right?" 

"That's the one." Ginny giggled. "They've been going out for a year now. Mum's practically ecstatic about it. She's been predicting that they'll be announcing their engagement any day now." 

"Yeah, I can't really blame her though. She's been pretty disappointed with Bill and Charlie since neither one of them has supplied her with grandchildren yet," Ron stated with slight amusement.

"Did Ron tell you about mum's attempt to get Charlie and Tonks together?" Ginny asked Harry eagerly.

Harry tried to not look surprise. "No he didn't. How'd she do that?"

"Oh, you know. Typical stuff. She mainly just kept sending them not-so-subtle hints about how they were both single, around the same age, and such. It really was a waste of time for her. Tonks has already told me that she's more interested in Professor Lupin then Charlie."

If the other one was surprising to Harry, this was shocking. "What!" he exclaimed. "Her and Professor Lupin? But he's so much older then her and a, and a--"

"A werewolf?" Ginny supplied. "Honestly, Harry, what does all that matter? They're not that far apart in age, and as for the werewolf part, well, do you care that he's one?"

"Of course not!"

"Neither does she."

"I don't know," Ron mused. "I mean, let's be honest. Professor Lupin doesn't strike me as the romantic type. Don't you think that Tonks maybe should aim for someone a little more...responsive."

"That's probably half the intrigue for her," Ginny said wisely. She then shot Ron a mock look of surprise. "Never thought I'd hear you say something that actually takes some observational skills, Ronnie."

"Shows what you know," said Ron with a touch of embarrassment. 

"It's probably just Hermione rubbing off on him some," Harry said.

"Probably," Ginny agreed. Ron shot her a look of venom that she ignored. "So are you two up for quidditch tomorrow? George and Fred's already agreed and I'm fairly confident I can win Charlie and Bill over to the idea."

"But doesn't that only make seven?" Harry asked.

"I was thinking about inviting Fleur to participate too. Mum says she's staying over tonight anyway, and it'd be nice if I had another girl out there for once."

"Well, you can count me out," Ron said, looking ill. 

"Afraid that Fleur'll distract you with her veela charm and cause you to fall off your broom?" Ginny teased.

"Maybe," snapped Ron at her.

"But I thought you was over your fear of veelas, Ron" Harry said to his best friend, confused. "You seemed fine with her when I last saw her, at least."

"Yes, but that was before he saw her again and ran straight into a wall," said Ginny. 

Harry had to chock down a laugh at the look on Ron's face.

"And that was only the first encounter," she continued. "Apparently when people with veela blood in them are feeling particularly amorous, which happens quite a bit when she's around Bill, their attractive charm becomes a bit sporadic, though it's really not that powerful. Dad, Fred, George, and Charlie aren't effected by it at least, but Ron, here, seems to be extra sensitive to it." Ginny patted Ron's back in false sympathy. "Must be those teenage hormones."

Ron's face was now as red as his hair, and Harry was having a hard time containing his laughter. It felt like a long time since he'd been this at ease, and Harry had to admire Ginny because of it. She really had turned his mood around. Now that he could notice it, there was more of the twins in her then he had originally thought. She had that same attractive ability of making people feel good no matter how horrible their moods are at the moment in the least. Come to think of it, she had really been there for him a lot last year, even during the Department of Mysteries incident. It made Harry feel very thankful that even through all the hell he had to endure during his fifth year, he had at least gained another friend from the ordeal.

It was about that time that Fred popped his head into the room, looking particularly mischievous. "Lunchtime, guys. Better get moving." 

________________________


End file.
